


The Tao of Job

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angry Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Dysfunctional Family, Guilt, Humiliation, M/M, Workplace, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every rule has its exception, and there are forces in the universe to which even Percy Weasley has to yield</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Percy Ficathon, as per the request of Natalia da Rimini. You can find all the other fics at www.percyfest.muse-wanted.com.

Auror's division, a maze of cubicles. Laughing. Weren't they aware of the hour?

"Are you aware of the hour?" Percy asked, sticking his head through a door. They ignored him. Shacklebolt and Williams were laughing and pointing across desks thickly layered with spicy-smelling take-away. Tonks was chucking popcorn at the head of their newest trainee, and he was catching it, sometimes, in his open mouth, and the rest of it littered the floor.

"Excuse me," said Percy.

They looked up, scowling and smirking and rolling eyes. "Oh, hello, Percy," Shacklebolt said, and Tonks snickered. "Moody have a new assignment for us?"

"Are you aware of the hour?" he repeated, and tapped his wristwatch, because you never could tell with the Aurors.

Tonks snorted. "Oh, unclench a minute, won't you? We just caught Dolohov on the third try. We're celebrating."

"Indeed." They weren't supposed to have food down here, were they? Muggle take-awayghastly. Not that Moody would read a report. "Perhaps you'd be interested to learn that I could hear you from"

_"Unclench,"_ Tonks said again, and pulled a slice off something round, greasy and red. 'Have some pizza."

"No thank you," he said, "unlike some people, I respect Mr. Moody's instructions regarding"

"Moody," the new recruit said, "is fucking nutter. Eat the pizza."

Percy glared at him. "One would think you'd have a bit more respect for your superiors, Mr. Potter."

Harry Potter smirked, looking evil. "Yes. One would. If one had one's head so far up one's arse"

"Have a fortune cookie, then," Tonks said, and threw the whole bowl of popcorn at Harry. It snowed to the floor in buttery drifts and he cackled aloud and stepped in it. She unearthed a cookie and tossed it to Percy, who caught it two-handed against his chest, scowling. "Open it, come on. Maybe it'll tell you how to unclench."

"Or unplug," Harry said, and there was laughter.

Percy broke open the cookietexture of balsa wood, really, they considered this edible?and unwound the little strip of paper inside.

__

Like all dreamers, I mistook disenchantment for the truth.

 

"Well?" Williams asked with his mouth full.

He crumpled it and dropped the lot in the wastebasket. "Clean this up," Percy snapped, "or I'll report you to Mr. Moody," and he stalked back to his office alone.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"They lot of them are absolutely unmanageable," he told Penny over lunch. "They had Muggle take-away all over their cubicles last night. Disgraceful."

She sipped her tea. "Wouldn't you be, though? Take that 'best of the best' business too seriously after a while

"Harry Potter is an absolute nightmare."

"Harry Potter has one hell of an excuse."

Percy glared. "That's the problem. People making excuses for everything. Some things are just inexcusable."

The eye-roll he was coming to expect. "Well, why don't you report him?"

"There's the little fact that my immediate superior is insane."

She snorted. "Mad-Eye Moody is eccentric, not insane."

"He blew up a water fountain last week because it allegedly looked at him 'funny'."

"Eccentric. He's too important to be insane."

He shook his head. "He's retiring again in a few months."

"I never understood why he came out of retirement, to tell the truth. Is the Minister eccentric?"

"The Minister needed someone to fill her old position after Fudge was removed." And he, at tender twenty, hadn't been on the list, despite having run half the Ministry from his desk at age nineteen. _Too young,_ Madame Bones had said, _too close to Cornelius, and anyway, I need you in there for me, not the public. _"It was a favor to Dumbledore."

"Ah." Penny wiped mustard off her lower lip and crumpled the napkin. "Politics. I avoid them."

"You have the luxury."

"You didn't have to work at the Ministry."

"And where else could I work?" He asked her in all seriousness.

She frowned. "...you know, that's an excellent question."

"You're not encouraging."

"No, reallyit's like...like imagining Dumbledore outside of Hogwarts."

"Don't say that."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not that bad."

"You used to want to be Minister when you grew up, didn't you?"

"Yes," he told her gruffly, "and before that, I wanted to be a Kneazle."

She smiled at him and checked her watch, then again. "Blast and damn, I promised Maggie I'd pick up some fish eyes from the apothecary today."

"What do you need fish eyes for?"

"Nothing important."

Which could mean hospital things, witch things or lesbian things, any of which put him out of the loop. "Have fun, I suppose. Mind that they're domesticthe imports are half-rotten at best."

She kissed him on the cheek. "See you later, Perce. Don't stress yourself."

"Believe me, I'm trying."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"The Dolohov reports, Minister."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley." Minister Bones peered at him through her monocle, and asked, "Everything running smoothly down there?"

Cue the report, the sort Moody was rarely in the correct state of reality to give. "As well as can be expected, given the discipline situation. Some of the Aurors seem to have gotten rather..._exuberant_ lately"

"Not a problem," she said, rifling the parchment. "Pot and kettle, beam in the eye and all that. Anything else?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am."

One thin eyebrow went to the ceiling. "There's a problem with him?"

"Not his performance," because _that_ was putting him on the fastest track to full field status in a century, "but his...well, attitude."

"Attitude is hardly a cardinal sin, Percy."

"I don't like it."

She stopped and looked at him. "Don't like it, or don't like him?"

"Ma'am, I assure you this has nothing to do with my brother."

"I didn't say it did."

"He's undermining discipline," Percy insisted, willing his ears to cool, bristling from the assumption. "He's disrespectful, he fails to follow proper procedures"

"As much as I hate to say it, Harry Potter can do whatever the hell he likes. Do you realize what people would say if we fired him?"

Percy set his jaw. "I wasn't aware that Ministry policy was set by public opinion."

"Ministry action is tempered by realism, Percy. Harry Potter still has some growing up to do."

He turned to leave; she stopped him. "I thought you might like to know that Alastor has discussed his retirement with me. The date's not firmly set, but I'm starting the process to choose a replacement."

And twenty-two wasn't all that better than twenty, but he could hope. "I see."

"It's premature to announce it, of course."

"Of course."

"But as his second I thought you might like to know."

"Thank you, Minister."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

The letter was written on thick yellow parchment, the cheap sort with the rough surface loath to absorb any ink, least of all the watery sort from a bottle labeled black that always came out smoky gray. The package was wrapped in plain paper for the owl and tied with ratty gray string that had squashed it into four fat lobes, like a clover that had got its holidays wrong. The owl had gone, but left one ragged gray feather on the carpet, like a sign.

Percy didn't have to recognize the handwriting; he knew the smell of that parchment, the weight of the bundle, the faded ink, though they could afford so much better now. Had, when the matter was graver and the envelope black, six months previously. This business had been going on too long.

He burned the letter and put the package in the closet, unopened, next to two others exactly the same.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Harry Potter made a scene at the office Christmas party: not that Percy was surprised.

"O bloody _night,"_ he yelled, wobbling on a tabletop, "the _stars_ are fucking _shiiiiiiin_ing..."

 

"How much as he had to drink?' Percy asked anyone.

Somebody shrugged. "One to many, it looks like." Laughter. Of course.

_"Adeste fideles!"_ Harry yelled, swishing his wand, and fell off the table in a shower of sparks. _"Venite_ fucking _Immanuel!_ Ow."

Percy dragged him into a cubical before he set something on fire and propped him up in a chair. "_Sobrius,"_ he hissed, and let the cold sparks drip down Harry's face.

The Auror-trainee shivered and blinked through his smudged, tilted glasses. "Whuzzefuck...? Percy...?"

"Excellent work, Mr. Potter. Such acumen will certainly take you far in this department."

Harry glared and stood up. "Fuck you," he said, and again, because he had to pause and steady himself before leaving, "Fuck you, Weasley."

"Ministry policy tends to frown on such things," Percy told him.

Harry made a rude noise with his tongue and headed straight back to the drinks, and to the table.

Later when he was helping clean up, he found Harry passed out on the floor, covered with an outsized cloak and smelling softly of alcohol. His hair was splayed across the carpet with his forehead proclaiming to the world, and he was curled on his side, and drooling. Percy shook his shoulder. "Harry. Wake up."

Harry stirred and squirmed. "...Hmmm? Whazzrrmmuh?"

Percy twisted away from his breath, sighed. "On second though, go back to sleep." He went off to Personnel to look up Harry's address, then came back and levitated the insensate hero up to the lobby. It wasn't nice Flooing with a limp body crushed against his chest, but they came out in a flat more scrupulously clean than Percy had expected. It was a studio and he didn't see a bed, so he laid Harry out on the couch.

"No," he mumbled when Percy tried to pull away, and latched into his robes with callused hands. "Stay."

"I can't"

"Wantchu stay."

"You certainly do."

He fought with Harry's fingers to liberate his clothes, but Harry had been in training for nearly six months and pulled Percy down into his chest. "Stay here," Harry murmured, and stroked Percy's hair, and nuzzled the side of his face. _Oh, sweet mother of Merlin,_ Percy thought, and pulled sharply away and stood up.

He dodged seeking hands and went back to the fire. He didn't turn around when he heard the thump of a body hitting the floor, but he did hear Harry mutter "fuck," and it didn't really matter if he came out of the Floo backwards at home.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

The next day Percy met Harry in the corridor outside his office. "Good morning, Mr. Potter, happy Christmas." he said mechanically.

"Thank you," Harry blurted. He still looked hung over and sleepy and didn't need to specify.

Percy raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome."

Harry left.

Later that day he passed the Auror's division on the way to the restroom and saw Harry in his cubicle, watched him dump crisp crumbs into his mouth from a shiny bag. They passed each other in the hall, Percy to his office and Harry to a dustbin with a crisp bag full of garbage in one hand. They were the only two people in the entire building. Christmas day.

"Why are you here?" Percy asked him.

"Why are you?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter doesn't make him nervous.

"Maggie and I are going to her brother's house for New Year's."

"Sounds wonderful."

"I get to meet my new niece."

"Entrancing."

"And then we're going to sacrifice a goat."

"Hmm?"

Indulgent smile, false glare. "Pay attention, Percy."

"My apologies."

"I suppose I can't convince you to join us."

Hadn't they just had this conversation over Christmas? "I'm not certain Maggie would appreciate it."

"Maggie doesn't dislike you, Percy, though if you keep on insisting she does, she might start to."

"Your logic is, as ever, impeccable."

"Don't get sarcastic with me."

Plan B. "Maggie's family won't want a complete stranger hanging around their celebration, I'm sure."

"I think you'd get along swimmingly, actually," Penny said over the rim of her cup. "Her sister-in-law is a public accountant; you two could have a boring contest."

"As much as I appreciate the suggestion, I have plans."

Penny's eyebrows went up and her mouth fell open. "Dare I hope this involves the word 'burrow?'"

Now _that_ was uncalled for. "I'm attending the departmental party again."

"Oh, _Percy,"_ she sighed, swatted his knuckles. "When are you going to let it go?"

"May I ask to just what are you referring?"

"You _know_ to what I'm referring," she said crossly. "You've spent the last three years wallowing"

"I do not wallow."

"in your own made-up morass of guilt"

"I don't make things up."

"to the point where I'm beginning to think you enjoy it," she snapped, "and stop interrupting me!"

"It was a point," Percy said, "of information."

Penny folded her arms. "You're the most self-absorbed person I know, you know. You should've been a Ravenclaw."

"And what, exactly, does this have to do with my alleged wallowing?"

"You're so obsessed with your own guilty conscience," she declared, "that you are physically incapable of even noticing, much less accepting, that the only person blaming you for anything is yourself."

"That's not true."

"How can you be sure if you never talk to them?"

"I would only be proving my own point."

She rolled her eyes. "Logic, of course."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

He had not intended to drink on New Year's Eve.

"Relax," Penny had told him before he left for the party.

"Unclench," Tonks said, and tried to put a cup in his hand.

"Unplug," Harry Potter said, and all he had to do was smile.

"Looking for a duet partner this time?" Percy asked him, not nastily, but almost.

Harry feigned innocence. "Me? No. I learned my lesson. Call me Temperance now. I've converted."

They gave him a glass of champagne near midnight, and he did not miss the giggling and the smirks. "No, thank you."

"It's just champagne."

"I'm not drinking."

"You can drink just champagne.

"No."

"You've hung around Moody too long."

Or the twins. "I can get my own champagne."

"Constant vigilance," Harry Potter said from the bar, and passed him an empty glass.

They toasted at midnight, and the champagne bubbles tickled his nose, and Percy suddenly felt wonderfully warm, and happy, and _light_. He could do anything, he was an Important Person. He was Not To Be Trifled With. He could sign things, and stamp things, and...sign them again, perhaps, in a big bold squiggle that no one could read, like the Minister. It felt wonderful, so wonderful that he drank more champagne and agreed to let them stay to toast the Azores. He could do such things, after all, if he wanted to. It was Important.

He decided it Important to shout at Harry Potter, too. "What did you put in my champagne!"

"Dunno what you mean."

"I'm not drunk!"

"'Course not."

"I am going! To write you up! In a Report!"

"Weasley..."

"With Signatures!"

"Oh, Weasley..."

"Because I am Important...!"

And then suddenly Harry's arms were around his neck, and they were very close, and through two layers of glasses his eyes looked _huge._

"I thought you were Temperance," Percy whispered, feeling light all over again.

Harry shrugged. "I lied," and then he Kissed Him On The Mouth.

Percy fell over.

Harry came back while a diminished crowd toasted Brasilia, and checked his pulse. "You all right?"

"You kissed me."

"How many fingers am holding up?"

"You kissed me."

"That's not a number."

"How many, then?"

Harry squinted. "Good question." He sat down.

"You kissed me."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm drunk."

"Nice to meet you."

Percy groaned.

Harry peered hard at his watch. "They'll be toasting Newfoundland in a moment."

"Will you kiss me again?"

"Would you like me to?"

Percy shut his eyes, because he was not an Important Person, he was pathetic, and they should've cleared out three hours ago, and now he had a headache. "I'm not gay," he told Harry in earnest.

Harry was gone.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"You are pathetic," Penny told him, later, after he'd spent the whole new year avoiding the Aurors.

"Well, yes, I'd rather established that"

"No, notyou mean he kissed you and you didn't do anything?"

"I stopped the party."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I just said I stopped it."

"I meant the kiss."

"He slipped something into my drink, Pen."

"That's not an answer."

"Why would I enjoy it?"

"Harry Potter...superhero...."

"My brother's best friend."

"Still, he's very handsome."

Percy blinked. "I'm not gay."

She laughed at him.

"I fail to see"

_"Percy,_" she said, "You're the gayest wizard I know.

"What's_ that_ supposed to mean?"

"Well, that I don't know very many gay wizards, to start with..."

"I am not." He folded up his napkin.

"You are."

"No."

She shrugged. "How do you know?"

"What do you mean, how do I know?"

"How do you know you aren't gay?"

"How do you know you are?"

She just smiled, and Percy couldn't help but thinkagainthat when Penelope had turned into a lesbian she'd somehow changed all the rules.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Harry delivered a report to Percy's office the following day.

"Armitage update, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter."

"He's not in Uzbekistan."

"I'm sure he's not."

Harry didn't leave the doorway.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Potter?"

"Are you going to ask what I put in your drink on New Year's?"

"Would you like me to?"

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Forget it." He went back to his cubical.

Later that day Percy found a creased flier for Insta-Inebriater by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes tacked to his door. He burned it.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

It was later still that they were caught in the lift together, going all the way down to the old courtrooms on level nine, alone. Or not, depending on how one defined it. Percy was not nervous.

"You look nervous," Harry said, watching the floors rise past.

"I am not," Percy told him.

"Do I make you nervous?"

"Why would you make me nervous?"

"I spiked your drink."

"And that should make me nervous."

"I'm violent and unpredictable."

"Are you?"

Harry shrugged, and smiled a bit.

Percy looked at Harry, who was placidly watching the doors creak open like mud. "Would you like me to be nervous around you?"

"Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an exception to every rule.

And nothing much happened, and perhaps he should've stopped paying attention. Harry nearly failed his concealment and disguise module in February.

"That score in unacceptable."

"Got to adjust it, laddie," Moody mumbled and scratched on the lines.

"Sir, with all due respect"

"That would be what you say when you're about to disrespect me."

Percy blinked, rallied. "Sir, we can't go making allowances for Potter. Any other trainee"

"Weasley, no other trainee's been in the papers since he was fourteen. Folks know Harry's face like their own children'sbetter, even. He's working with a handicap."

"...handicap, sir?"

"Handicap." Moody threw him the paperwork, then burned the quill. "You'll have heard of the term."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"You passed," Percy told him, "the module."

Harry stopped throwing sharpened quills at the ceiling and blinked. "I passed?"

"With distinction."

"I was nearly trampled by an hysterical mob."

"Not for the first half-hour."

"And that's passing?"

"For you."

Narrowed eyes. Clenched jaw. Crumpling parchment, smoky fire.

"Tell Moody I'd like to repeat the module."

"That's not allowed."

"Neither is cheating."

They both looked at the pile of ash on the desk. It used to be a training report. Percy tried to work out what he'd missed, and how. "I'll see what I can do."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"So let me get this straight"

"Penny, please."

"He's demanding to redo the whole disguise test?"

"He's threatened to take it to the papers."

"Christ almighty."

"The Minister isn't pleased."

"Is he mad?"

"I believe," Percy told her testily, "that the term is 'eccentric.'"

"Percy" She grabbed his hand. "What do you think of all this?"

"Of what? The most trivial scandal in the last five years, which just happens to have half the Ministry coming out in hives?"

"Do you think they should give Harry Potter a by on the test?"

"Of course not."

"Do you think he should make it public?"

"No."

"You have to pick one or the other, Perce."

"Between gross disregard for established standards and the public shaming of an embattled institution?"

"...there are several things wrong with that statement."

"Tell me, please."

"Okay, one: why can't rules adapt to the situation?"

"There is a process"

She snatched away the napkin he was shredding and tapped on the table. "Bollocks to the process."

"That was uncalled for," he told her.

"Why," she said slowly, "must there be a process?"

"Because a process creates an orderly society!"

"Why are you shouting about this?"

"You started it."

She laughed at him. Percy's ears went pink.

"Penelope"

"Oh, here you go."

"What?"

"You're calling my by my full name."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Actually, I'm surprised you haven't fallen back on 'Miss Clearwater.'"

"Well, you're hyphenated now, aren't you?"

"Maggie's hyphenated. I'm practical."

"My mistake."

"You were lecturing? About processes?"

"There must be processes."

"Why?"

"Because...look, what if there was no Animagus registry? No, bad example. What if there were no Aurors?"

"We'd be neck deep in Dark wizards, for one."

"Exactly. So there has to be a process associated with Auroring."

"And what is it? 'Find evil, hex it'?"

"No. I mean there's a selection process, and a training process"

"And what's this got to do with an orderly society?"

"Because processes are about rules! One doesn't just change the ruleswe all agree that Aurors do this and the Ministry does that...we set the rules and we obey the rules because without the rules there's just...just..."

"Anarchy?"

_"Yes!"_

"...Calm down."

"I'm sorry."

"That's all right."

"Really."

"I didn't much care for the tea, anyway. Or the robes."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Madame Bones had a plaque on her wall: _This, too, shall pass._

"Congratulations on your score, Mr. Potter," he told Harry when he delivered the new report.

"Thank you, Weasley," Harry said.

"There's a meeting at one o'clock."

"Brilliant."

It was punishment, he decided, for everyone. Punish Harry Potter for the venial sin of defiance; punish the Aurors for enabling and abetting him in the matter; and punish Percy because the problem existed and he was conveniently there. Moody, apparently, liked pain.

"This afternoon," Percy told them, "we are going to discuss the implementation phase of the new process for evaluating spectral evidence under the amended Code of Conduct for Deceased Persons as approved by the Phantom Committee last week. You have all received a copy of the Spirit Division's revised guidelines for the legal accommodation of the corporeally-challenged non-living, so let's begin with a review..."

Percy talked for three hours. His throat hurt. His feet ached. Williams fell asleep. "Any questions?" he finally asked, so they could leave.

"YeahI have one."

Everyone turned to look at Harry Potter, who smirked.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Have you ever had sex?"

Percy blinked.

"I mean for real, you know. Not just with Rosie Palmer."

The Aurors snickered like schoolchildren. Moody grunted.

Percy cleared his throat. "I fail to see how your question is germane to the discussion." His voice was level; he was proud.

Harry shrugged and slouched in his chair. "Thought maybe you wouldn't be such an arsehole if you were getting some."

"That's enough, laddie," Moody said, as Percy fought down the urge to hex Potter, in gross violation of parliamentary procedure.

"I was just curious." Innocent-looking, except for the smirk.

Percy drew himself up, fought for control. "If there are no serious questions related to the matter at hand"

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Harry Potter made thirty-six inappropriate comments in Percy's presence over the next sixteen days. Nineteen of them were sexually explicit, and a further ten cast aspersions on his masculinity. Four questioned his mental capacity and the rest were mere insubordination, though according to Moody, Harry got credit for creativity of language.

"Sir, he is undermining my authority."

"He's having a bit of fun."

"He's insubordinate."

"Weasley, you'll be noticing that everyone around here is insubordinate when it comes to you."

"Potter it flagrantly violating regulations"

"Good."

"Good?"

"He's an Auror, laddie. He can't be worrying about things like rules on the job."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Penny looked at him funny when he finished explaining all this. "Did you know that you spit when you're indignant?"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm just saying."

"Moody is encouraging blatant disregard for!"

"For the rules and processes which create an orderly society, and hence bringing about the downfall of Western wizarding civilization as we know it."

He frowned. "If you're just going to make fun of me, I'll leave."

"I'm sorry."

"I get enough of that at work."

"I know."

"Especially from Potter."

"He likes you."

It took a moment before he could breath properly again after inhaling most of his tea. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

"What did you say?"

"I said Potter likes you."

"He insults me."

"He also kissed you."

"I was drunk."

"I didn't say anything about you!"

"As well you shouldn't."

"Look, I was being facetious, Percy, there's no need to get your knickers in a twist."

"How is that funny?"

"You know...when a little boy fancies a girl he pulls her pigtails and transfigures her dolls into wombats. Potter might just be trying to get your attention."

"Don't know why he'd want it."

"You wouldn't."

"I never pulled your hair, when we were in school."

"You never really fancied me, either."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

And then Harry Potter did not show up for work.

"Where's Potter?"

"Dunno."

"I haven't seen him."

"Shacklebolt, have you seen Harry?"

"Not since I left yesterday..."

Percy had seen him, too, upon leaving: bend over a desk with quill in hand, staring at blank parchment. "Mr. Potter hasn't arrived today, sir."

Moody grumbled and peered at the cubical of rubbish and take-away. "Suspicious."

"He seemed fine to me yesterday," Williams said, which showed how much he knew. Harry hadn't made an inappropriate comment all week.

Percy looked at the calendar, and winced, and breathed, because he realized he'd forgotten after all. When Moody began to discuss search parties, he cleared his throat and interrupted Shacklebolt in mid-speculation. "Sir...I think I know where to find Mr. Potter."

"Do you, laddie?"

"It's, er, I believe so. I should go."

On didn't really appreciate that glassy blue eye until it _looked_. "Do you now?"

He drew himself up to his full height. "Yes, sir."

"Why you?"

"...It's personal."

Moody let him go, with an emergency Portkey and a promise to owl for backup. "Constant vigilance. Don't take anything for granted."

Too late for that. "Of course."

Harry's flat was on the top floor, so he Apparated onto the roof. He spelled the door open when nobody answered his knocks. It was silent; it was very clean. Harry sat on the couch and twirled a bottle between his calloused hands.

"Mr. P..." Percy cleared his throat. "Harry."

"Hello."

"Mr. Moody is concerned about you."

"It's the first."

"It's proper procedure to"

"He's supposed be nineteen."

"to owl..."

Harry looked up from the bottle and stared, hard-eyed, and Percy swallowed hard and fought to keep his voice.

"Shall I inform Mr. Moody that you won't be coming in today?"

Harry snorted and went back to the bottle. "I should've known."

"What do you mean?"

"Get out of here."

And Percy was suddenly angry, enraged, that this boy should presume, should dismisshe grabbed for the bottle. Harry pulled it away easily; apparently he'd learned after all, at least not to get drunk in the daylight. They glared.

"Don't," Percy told him, breathing heavily.

"Don't what?"

"You're not the onlyhe was my brother"

"For all you cared."

"You have no idea!"

"Were you all puffed up because it was _your_ ickle brother who got his fool head blown off?"

"He followed _you."_

"I know."

_Why?_

Percy bit his lip to keep the question in, breathed deep to make it go down, closed his eyes to put it out of his mind. When he opened them again he saw a dull green stare, calculating, cold.

"Moody sent you to make sure I'm not crazy."

"Mr. Moody did not send me, and we already know that you are."

"I'm not."

"Really."

"No more than you."

They watched each other a moment, testing, judging. Percy was the first to look away.

"I'll inform the Ministry that you're not well and merely"

"Percy." Harry stood up, suddenly, and let the bottle drop to the rug. His face was very blank. "Do you believe in forgiveness?" he asked, so close that Percy could feel his breath.

Percy thought for a moment. "No."

"Good."

And then Harry kissed him, all warm and dry and sour like cheap booze. Percy went quiet and still, disbelieving, but too sober to simply collapse. He turned away as one thin hand snaked into his hair. "Harry"

"No." And that was a tongue, yes, flicking against his mouth. "No."

Warmth and wet, touch and stimulation. Percy exhaled, chose, and submitted as if to a rising tide.

Hands; lips; clothes puddled on the pale rug, ignored. Harry did have a bed, or more precisely a large mattress and some blankets on the floor, and they tumbled into it with neither grace nor ease. Then too soon Harry was above him, and around him, riding him while thin strong hands scratched paths into his chest. He hissed and squirmed, grunted and growled, face contorted around curses and cries, and Percy gasped and met his strokes until the world around them silently dissolved.

Harry shook long after his climax, and they lay for a time in the damp sheets, silent and breathing. Percy sought long for his voice, finally found it. "Did you and Ron?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It shouldn't have happened again.

It shouldn't have happened again.

"This sort of thing is strongly discouraged," he told Penelope during a fevered confession in a teashop. "We are both jeopardizing our careers."

"Indeed."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"Who is he?"

"I'd rather not...wait a minute."

"It's not like I'm going to tell the minister, I hardly know the woman."

"I didn't say it was a man."

"You didn't say he wasn't."

"And you just assumed it is?"

"Call it an educated guess."

"We've been over this, Penny, I'm not"

"Yes, yes, and you just confessed to having passionate sex with another man."

"I didn't say it was a man!"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. I'll pretend he's a woman."

"This isn't funny."

"Perhaps not to you."

"You think this is funny?"

"Percy." She put her hand on his wrist, and set down her cup. "I think that you should see where this takes you."

"The street is where it'll take me."

"You never know."

"But I can guess."

She sighed. "You really are a cynic, aren't you?"

"I'm a realist."

"Try something for me." She took both his hands and held them in the center of the table. "Imagine for a moment the best possible resolution of this situation."

That wasn't hard at all.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"The Armitage report."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Just a moment, please."

Harry looked up, all innocence, until Percy spelled the door shut and silent. "Harry," he said, and the trainee Auror relaxed.

"Problem, Perce?"

"We need to talk."

"We do?"

"About...our encounter."

He smirked again, that evil look of teeth and flashing eyes. "You seemed to enjoy it at the time."

Percy felt his face warm, pressed forth. "We were neither of us thinking clearly, Harry."

"Who needs thinking?"

"If you would use your better judgement"

"Don't have any." He poked Percy in the chest. "Violent and unpredictable, remember."

"It was a lapse."

Harry blinked, then stepped forward and up and pressed his mouth into Percy's, used his tongue. Percy went stiff and still and waited for it to end, for the door to open, for some deliverance from the assault. None came. Harry worked his way down Percy's throat, and his heart pounded, and he fought for his voice. "Harry."

"Hmmm?" He could feel that against his skin, with the buzz of stubble. Amazing.

"Harry..."

Harry looked up, brushed back Percy's hair and pressed one knee between his thighs. "You call this a lapse?"

Percy swallowed.

Harry grinned at him and wiped his mouth. "I thought so. See you around, Weasley."

"Of course."

"That wasn't a question."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Harry bumped into him twelve times over the next week in crowded hallways. He touched Percy's hand four times when passing him scrolls. He made seventeen inappropriate comments in public and kissed him once in a lift, while the flitting paper shadows soared and flashed around them.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"The regular reports, Minister."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley." A swift examination of parchment and a quirk of an eyebrow. "Everything running smoothly, I trust?"

"As smoothly as can be expected, I suppose."

"You seem to have resolved your troubles with Harry Potter."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's been a while since you've found something to complain about regarding him.."

"Ah. So it has."

"Is there a problem with Mr. Potter?"

"Nonot at all, Minister. We've, ah, reached an understanding, you might say."

"Might I, then?"

"If you like."

"Well, as long as it's no longer causing problems within the department."

"No, ma'am."

"Good."

"Mr. Moody's recent memorandum regarding memoranda, however..."

"We must make allowances for Alastor, Percy."

"Might I point out that the Employee Bodily Fluids Act of 1867"

"Is it causing that much trouble?"

"There have been accusations of hoarding, ma'am."

Blinks, two of them. "Merlin."

"If you could"

"I'll discuss it with him immediately."

"Thank you."

"Though I suppose it is one way to leave his mark on the department..."

"By leaving some on the staff?"

"Yes, well...yes."

"Is that all, Minister?"

"Mmmm. Oh, don't be surprised if you see Leonides Short hanging around your department in the next few days."

"Short, ma'am?"

"He's going to be heading up the committee to select Alastor's replacement. He wants to get a feel for the inner workings of the department."

"I understand."

"I'm sure you do."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

A memo consisting of _FUCK ME_ was not perhaps the most romantic of gestures, but it could not be matched for succintness.

"Your report is seriously underwritten," he told Harry. "I should like a revised form on my desk in the morning."

Except for the sparkle of evil, he would have looked sincere. "You're leaving for the night?"

"In a moment."

He was always one of the last out; the atrium was dark and no one watched him Floo. He did not expect to be pounced upon in his foyer, but he'd barely gotten the soot out of his eyes when he found his arms full of hero and trainee, and was already being kissed when he'd worked this all out. "Harry"

"Mmmm. Shuddup."

"Harry, bedroom"

Percy couldn't see green eyes rolling, but he imagined they must've. "Couch is fine."

"Maybe for you" Percy found himself being pushed, found himself on the couch with Harry in his lap and yes, perhaps the couch would do for the moment. "How did you get here so fast?" he asked when they paused for a breath.

"Apparated," Harry gasped. "You should try it"

Percy tried to stop his hips thrusting upward, tried to pause, tried to force out the thoughts in his head. "Therearespellsto stop that"

Harry growled and reached for his own zipper. "I know."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

The problem with Harry, Percy determined later on, was that Harry had a rulebook all his own. He imagined it, locked up in a cupboard somewhere or hidden in the tiny studio flat: heavy and dog-eared with large gilt letters peeling away from a cover of torn and worn leather, spine cracked. _MANUFACTURER'S INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE MANTAINENCE AND OPERATION OF HARRY JAMES POTTER. _Or something like that. He felt that the type must be very small.

_#1. Harry Potter does not take orders. _

"Now is not the time," Percy hissed into Harry's mouth.

"Mrph."

"I hamumrg...have a _meeting"_

"Screw the meeting."

"Harry, sto_ooooohh..._"

"Or better yet, screw me."

_#2. Harry Potter does not prove simple answers to direct questions._

"I'll see you later?"

"Why?"

Dark knit brows. "Huh?"

"Why any of this?"

"Why any of what?"

"Why...with me?"

"Why not?"

_#3. Harry Potter is violent and unpredictable._

"Not tonight."

"No?"

"I have too much to do."

"Instead of me?"

"That's crude."

"Sorry I don't meet your fucking standards."

"I didn't say"

"Piss off, Weasley."

"What did I"

"I said fuck off, you son of a bitch."

"Okay."

_#4.(a) Harry Potter does not speak ill of the dead._

"Where did you get this?"

"Get what?"

"This jumper."

"You have to ask?"

Biting his lip, looking askance in the mirror. "I only wonder because...well...it's maroon."

Squared shoulders, bowed head.

"Harry?"

"We're going to be late for work."

"I didn't"

"Shut up."

_#4.(b) Harry Potter does not speak of the dead at all_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's not implying anything about Percy.

"So how did you end up here?"

Percy turned his head to peek at the rumpled shape behind him. "Could you be more specific, please?"

"Assistant Minister for Magical Law Enforcement," he tapped out against Percy's spine. "You hate it."

"It's an important position."

"But you _hate_ it."

He sighed and rolled over. "I was an assistant to Minister Bones when she was head of the department, and when she was chosen Minister she gave me the position."

"Ah. Didn't she trust Moody?"

"Do you?"

"I'd trust Moody before I'd trust Bones."

"A ringing endorsement, of course."

Harry scowled, and Percy rolled back, but a moment later Harry was hanging over his back and talking in his ear. "How'd you end up with Bones, though?" he asked. "You were all cozy with Fucking Fudge..."

Percy sighed and flopped onto his back. Harry folded his arms on Percy's chest and rested his head there, peering up with a gaze like a diamond drill. "I wanted to work for someone I could both trust and respect," Percy explained. "Minister Fudge proved himself to be quite unworthy of the latter."

"He proved he was a fuckup, you mean."

And Percy had grown tired of playing the lapdog for a man half his height. "Close enough."

"But you respect Bones?"

"I respect her a great deal."

"But she wouldn't listen to Dumbledore."

"Exactly."

Harry's brows knit, and Percy shut his eyes, and prayed for sleep. But he felt Harry's jaw bumping out on his sternum, "What about Crouch?"

"What about Mr. Crouch?"

"You sure as fuck respected him."

"I did."

"But?"

"He wasn't terribly trustworthy, was he?"

"Oh. I guess not."

Harry rolled off, and Percy turned over, and he hoped this time was the last.

"Percy?"

"Do you ever intend to go to sleep?"

"It's Friday."

"It was."

"Whatever."

"What do you want, Harry?"

"Oh, never fucking mind."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"So how goes it?" Penelope asked him over lunch on the first warm day of spring.

"Mr. Moody set his desk on fire again today," he told her feverishly, "Dawlish is completely insubordinate, Miss Tonks' last expense report was over three times the length of her field report"

"I meant with your special someone of indeterminate gender."

"Oh...fine, I suppose."

"Suppose?"

"I've little experience with gauging the progress of a relationship with a single, namely physical, dimension."

She rolled her eyes. "Because, well, God forbid you should say the word 'sex' in public, you know."

"Don't patronize me." Percy sipped his tea and gathered his unruly thoughts as best he could, all things considered. "It really shouldn't continue, you know."

"Do you want it to?"

He blinked and Penny, who was all clear and calm, because she hadn't been sleeping with Harry Potter. "Of course not."

"Why not?"

"It's incredibly dangerous! If anyone should learn"

"There's a remote chance one of you might lose some status."

"What do you mean, remote?"

"Percy," she said, in a motherly tone, "how did I meet Maggie?"

"Oh."

"Yes."

"That's St. Mungo's, though."

"Same differenceneither of us was sacked."

"But you were transferred."

"Just laterally. We even still work together from time to time."

"There's no lateral openings."

"Well, a small demotion."

"There are no lower levels to which he could be demoted."

"So you admit it's a he?"

"Iwhat?"

"Never mind. We were talking about the Ministry."

"We were talking about Hherwhoever."

"You want to break up."

"I think a relationship must fit certain criteria before one can properly said to be breaking up with another."

"Such as what?"

"Such as...well..."

"Sharing each others' names with friends?"

"I don't even know how to label this."

"So don't label it." He looked at her. She rolled her eyes. "Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to for a moment."

"I'm sure."

"Tell medid we break up?"

"Well, of course."

"So we fit the criteria."

"I don't see where you're taking this."

"How does this situation differ from that one? Besides the obvioussex and all."

"That's what makes it different, the Ministry and the" He lowered his voice. "The sex."

"And that's all?"

"That's all that's necessary, isn't it?"

Penny set down her cup and fixed him with a knowing stare. "Answer one question for me, Percy."

"All right."

"Do you like what's happening between you and Huh-her-whoever?"

"Do I like it?"

"Yes."

He thought about it for the rest of the meal, and after Penny had said her good-byes, right up until he went to sleep with Harry snoring somewhere at his back.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

The memo from Short landed on a Tuesday. Percy read it twice, took three deep breaths, and cleared his schedule for the day.

"Good afternoon," he told the committee. "I trust that I'm punctual?"

"On time as always, Weasley," Short said cheerfully. He was obese and snaggled-toothed and had a lot of bushy gray hair, some growing from the most improbable places. He should not have reminded Percy of his father. "We've been discussing the problem of setting criteria for the selection process with Alastor, you see, but as you seem to handle most day-to-day operations...."

There was an art to understatement, he supposed. "I find it best not to concern Mr. Moody with such matters as I can easily handle myself. The committee is seeking my input?"

"The Minister suggested that it might be helpful to consult you."

Oh. _Oh._ Percy understood now. "I hope I can be of service to you."

Something at the end of the conference table made a horrible noise; after a moment's thought, Percy suspected it might have been a woman. "You're a smarmy little bastard, aren't you?" it (she?) squawked, and the rest of the committee groaned or looked away.

"I'm sorry?" Percy hazarded.

"Like hell."

Short laughed nervously. "Ah, yes, introductions are in order...Calpurnia, this is Mr. Weasley, the Assistant Minister for Magical Law Enforcement. Mr. Weasley, Calpurnia Whitlow."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Percy said, and smiled, because he should.

The thing at the table moved, and he realized he was being peered at from beneath a prodigious quantity of shawls, scarves and eyeglasses. "You're a Weasley?" Calpurnia Whitlow asked querulously.

Which was a perplexing question. "Yes," he said. _Technically._

She nodded for a moment, then spat something green on his robes. "And don't come back!"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're a loony. I can smell it. Be stealing my garters like the rest of them, I venture."

"Ignore her," Short whispered quickly while Percy tried to work this out. "She's only here as a favor to her niece. Completely senile."

"I heard that!"

"Heard what, Calpurnia?"

They talked to him for an hour. They talked with him for longer. Except for Calpurnia Whitlow, who fell asleep snoring at lunchtime, they genuinely seemed to like him and value his input. He said nothing critical of Moody and when he ventured an opinion they didn't reject it outright. A small victory, he decided, but one with consequences.

Harry was going through his desk when he got back to the office. "Can I help you?" Percy asked from the door.

"Where've you been?" He was eating a chocolate bar, Percy noted, one of the new ones that turned your teeth colors. Another Weasley's Wizard Wheeze.

"I was in a meeting."

"What sort of a meeting?"

Was that an accusation or a challenge? "It's a matter between the minister and myself," he said brusquely. "Shouldn't you be at your own desk?"

Harry was ignoring him; Harry was suddenly bent double and rummaging around in the bottom right drawer, the one that was _meant_ to be locked. Aurors. "Why, Mr. Weasley," he said with a rising smirk, "I never thought of you as the sort to keep _contraband_..." And he upended a bag on the desk, and Percy's cache of licorice wands looked a bigger when they were spread all over.

And Harry's smirk looked a lot worse hovering over the lot.

"If you have nothing else to say," Percy forced out, "I think it would be advisable for you to return to your own"

"Of course," Harry said cheerfully, and spun the chair all the way around once before getting up. Percy was about to tell him that such a thing was completely unnecessary, really, it would ruin the castersbut Harry stopped to kiss him, and by the time he was done Percy couldn't remember what he'd been about to complain about, or why.

He gathered the licorice wands back into the bag and returned it to its place in the drawer, which he re-locked. Not that it mattered, really, where Harry was concerned. He'd probably tear down the Ministry stone by stone if he thought it would sufficiently annoy someone....

"Mr. Weasley?" It was Talbot, a fellow who liaised with Transport for firetaps. "Got a funny one for you, looks like a...er...sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Talbot?"

"Er...don't mean to pry, sir, but..."

"Out with it, Mr. Talbot."

"...Are you aware that your teeth are orange?"

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

He brought round a bottle of wine to Harry's flat some days later, determined to get a grip on the situation. Dinner, he thought uncomfortably, and maybe some civil conversation. That would feel normal. Well, as close to normal as Harry got.

Except Harry wasn't alone in the flat.

"Miss Granger," Percy said, and made himself smile.

She was wearing Muggle clothes and a travelling cloak, and neither she nor Harry seemed happy about anything. "Hello, Percy," she said with a sickly sweetness. "Harry and I were just talking about you."

"Were you?"

"Yes," Harry said sharply, "and it's Mrs. Krum now, and you'd better go."

"Nonsense, Harry. That's no way to treat your boyfriend."

She must've noticed they both flinched at the word.

"I didn't mean to intrudeI justit's nothing that can't wait a day."

"As long as you're here, why don't you have a seat." It wasn't a question.

Percy sat, feeling more self-conscious here than before the Wizengamot. He was very aware of the bottle. Harry folded his arms and slouched deep into the couch, staring over Hermione's head without blinking.

"You're still Assistant Minister for Magical Law Enforcement?"

"Yes."

"And Mad-Eye Moody is still in charge of the department?"

"Yes."

"And you're still capable of polysyllabic answers?"

He frowned. "Of course I am."

"If you're going to imply something, you should come out and say it," Harry said bitterly.

"I'm not implying anything about Percy."

Percy stood up. "I should leave."

"Sit down."

"Get out."

Hermione growled in a way that made Percy want to cross his legs. "This is really sick, Harry, you know it is."

"Who asked you?"

"He would _not_"

"How the fuck would you know?"

"He was my friend, too!"

"I am leaving now," Percy said .

"You have no idea what you're talking about"

"Then why don't you try _explaining_ it to me!"

"I don't answer to you!"

"Yes, because God forbid you talk to anyone else!"

Percy Flooed.

Two hours later Harry showed up at the door. "You left this," he said dully, offering up the wine. Some of it was missing.

"Erthat was a gift."

"Oh."

Percy took the bottle in the kitchen. Harry followed him. He'd barely shut the cold-cabinet when he felt hands around his midsection, lips on his neck. "Harry"

"Shhh." Harry spun him, kissed his mouth. "Later."

"Were you and?"

"Shut up." A soft kiss, inasmuch as Harry could be, a seeking kiss. "Just shup up. Please."

Percy took a deep breath, and looked in Harry's eyes, and released it. "Okay."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"Percy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you my boyfriend?"

"...I'm not sure."

Strange, to feel warm breath on his neck; strange to lay with his arms around something breathing, not a pillow. Strange to nuzzle black hair, see his face. "I think you are."

Percy stroked back his fringe and traced the patterns beneath, the second scar that transfigured lighting into a caduceus. "Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like confirmation, of a sort.

"So it's official."

"No."

"Then what would you called it?"

"...real."

"Same thing."

"Not really."

"Perhaps to you."

Percy sipped at his tea and pushed his glassed up his nose. "I have no idea what I'm doing," he confessed.

"I'm sure two bright boys like you can figure it out."

"I'm serious."

"So am I, to an extent." She rolled her eyes at him when she saw his face. "You know, most people are happy when they start a relationship."

"I never said that I was not happy."

"You look like your owl just died."

He set his cup on the saucer and tried to make the handle line up with its shadow. "I'm not sure this is a tenable situation."

"I'm sure it isn't," she said cheerfully. "Which is good for you."

"Is it now?"

"Yes."

"And why is that?"

She took his tea away. "Because it may well prove that there's at least one force in this world to which even Percy Weasley has to yield."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"Ah, Mr. Weasley! Just a moment of your time!"

With any other person he would've been short, but this was Short. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Just a momentlet's speak in your office" He was breathing heavily from a twenty-foot sprint. "I tried to send a memo, but they're having a spot of trouble with a giant frog in the Beast division, and anyway this seemed more like something that ought to be shared in person..."

"Yes, of course, sir...have a seat."

Short dropped into the guest chair by Percy's desk and dabbed his face with a hankerchief. Percy dropped into his own seat and quickly discovered a problem.

"Ah...thank you, Percy. May I call you Percy?"

"Y-y-yes, sir," he stammered, squirming in his seat away from what felt alarmingly like probing fingers in his groin.

"Good." Short leaned forward started talking. "I just wanted to let you know that the committee has begun started assembling a short list of candidates to interview, and your name has come up very near the top."

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on Short and not the hot breath on his belly. "Is that so?"

"Oh, yesyour testimony was most helpful."

"Was it." He clenched his fingers in the arm rest so he wouldn't arch outward and asked, "Are you sure that's completely p-proper?"

Short laughed, which was what Percy expected. "Oh, don't worry about thatit's completely regular. After all, we'd be daft not to consider Alastor's own second for his replacement..."

"Of course." Warm and wet and hot and oh, god, he was going to kill him.

The chubby warlock across the desk frowned at him. "Percy? I say, are you all right?"

"Fine!" he gasped, squirming.

"You seem a bit flushed..."

"I...I'm sorry," he hissed through clenched teeth, breathing faster, belly tight. "I believe I may have eaten s-something that doesn't agree with me."

"Ahhh," Short said sagely. "I know the feeling."

Percy politely doubted it.

"Well, I had best be getting back to my own departmentlots to doyou'll get a memo about the interview as soon as frog business is cleared up."

"Yes...thank you..."

"Hope you feel better."

The door clicked shut, and Percy surrendered, tossed his head back and gripped his chair so hard that slivers of wood broke off under his nails, but he felt nothing save the cruel tight heat and the pressure and the hands that held him into his seat. He felt himself to be falling, falling, falling, and the inevitable crash, as it finally came, had him tasting blood to keep from crying out.

As soon as he could pull himself together he pushed himself away from the desk and buttoned his robes while he glared into the kneehole. "For the love ofHarry, don't you have _work_ to do?"

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"Will you answer me something honestly?"

Harry looked up from the floor with his bootlaces in his teeth, which gave him a rather catfishy appearance. Why didn't he just use an unknotting charm? "Ith theventh."

"What was that?"

"I seth" Harry spat. "It depends."

Percy tucked the sheet under them mattress and looked at him. "Promise me you'll answer me honestly if I ask you something."

"I just did, didn't I?"

 

"Harry..."

He sat on the rug and worried the knot for so long that Percy began to think he was avoiding the question. It was terribly tense for a Saturday morning "All right," he said finally, "honest answer. Gryffindor's honor."

"Thank you." Percy took his time deciding on phrasing while he folded a hospital corner. It wouldn't do if Harry merely got annoyed with him, after all. "I'd like to know about...about you and Ron."

He went very still. Percy held his breath. The recalcitrant boot was set on the rug. Then Harry suddenly sprang to his feet and walked into the living room. "Have you got a wireless?"

Percy blinked, wondering what this had to do with the question. "Yes...."

"Brilliant. I'd nearly forgotten that the Cannons played at Puddlemere today."

"...what?"

Harry rolled his eyes at him. "You know, Quidditch? Even you have balls enough to follow that, right?"

Percy stared while Harry located the wireless and started fiddling with the knobs in a concentrated fashion. "You promised," he said blankly.

"Did not."

"Did tyes, you did."

Harry blinked over his shoulder. "I promised," he said coolly, "to provide an honest answer if I provided an answer at all. And I'm not."

Percy worked this over while Harry settled into the ugly easy chair he insisted could not be thrown out.

"You should've been a Slytherin."

Harry smirked. "So should you."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"What happened?"

"Percy, calm down."

"I am calm."

"You're hyperventilating."

"Just tell me what happened."

"To whom?"

"You _know."_

"Calm down and have a seat in my office while I find out."

Penny's office was very small and full of pictures, so that the walls seemed to be crawling while he watched. Lots of photos of Maggie, and her family and friends, and even one or two of him in the oddest corners. There was one still Muggle shot of her parents at some partyanniversary, he thoughtand seeing her frozen face near the edge of the frame gave him the willies. He couldn't sit down so he examined the books on the shelf and the potted plant by the window. A few memos flapped around the ceiling lights.

"Stop that," he snapped.

They swooped down and landed in her in-box in orderly rows.

"Thank you."

She finally came in, before he could start disassembling the furniture. "He's fine."

"What _happened?"_

She pushed him into the guest chair and perched on the desk. "He was injured in a training exercise."

"How?"

"According to the Aurors who brought him in," she sighed, "two of them staged a mock ambush and they were supposed to duel. Unfortunately, they didn't tell him about the 'mock' part, and he got a little...enthusiastic."

'Enthusiastic?"

"'Played the fucking hero,' according to the creepy one."

"That would be Dawlish."

"No wonder."

"And Harry?"

"Oh, he just fell through a fifth-floor window. He's getting some Blood-Replenishing Potion and a stern lecture from Healer Fitzkelly, and he should be back on the job right away."

Percy breathed. He wasn't sure when he had stopped.

Penny hopped off the desk and put her hand on his shoulder. "Would you like to see him?" she asked. "He's not in my ward, but I can arrange it."

She had asked him that before, just a few years ago. He'd been too proud then; now he was uncertain. "No," he told her. "I should really be getting back to the office..."

She didn't look happy, as usual.

Percy went back to work and emptied his inbox, then reorganized his files and sorted his quills by length. When Moody chased him out at eight o'clock, he went back to his flat and mopped the floor twice before beating out the rugs, and when all else failed, washed every dish in the cupboard.

Harry showed up at ten with a horrible bruise on his face. "Hey."

Percy looked up with his arms in the sink. "How are you?"

"Sore." He shrugged. "I've had worse."

Percy didn't want to ask about it.

When he'd finished the dishes he found Harry roaming the flat with a slightly lost look. "What brings you here?"

"I don't know."

"Oh."

They sat on opposite sides of a table.

Harry looked up and blurted, "I'm not supposed to, er, do any, any 'strenuous activity.' For, er, a while, I mean. They said."

"Oh." No need to elaborate on _that. _Percy blushed.

Harry nodded, and got up to examine Percy's bookshelves.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Yeah."

"I have tea."

He made tea. Harry wandered into the kitchen to watch him.

"Thanks."

Percy stared at his own cup. "I went by the hospital."

"You did?"

"Tonks told me they took you there."

"I didn't see you."

"I spoke with Penelope Clearwater."

"Oh."

"She told me everything."

They drank tea. Harry pulled a book from Percy's shelf and sat down, lips moving occasionally as he read. Percy went to his desk and started writing out censures for Tonks and Dawlish for gross negligence in a training situation. They didn't talk.

At eleven-thirty Percy rolled up his last scroll and realized he was alone. He found Harry stretched out on the bed with his clothes on, the lamp still burning on that side. He was breathing softly and slowly, and the glasses folded on his chest sparkled with each slight movement. With his head turn just so it hid the bruiseif Percy stood in the corner by the wardrobe and tilted his head, Harry looked calm and at peace. Unfamiliar.

Two Switching Spells had him in Percy's pajamas and between Percy's sheets. Percy slept on the other side of the bed. In the morning he was mildly surprised that his alarm failed to wake Harry, and rather more surprised that Harry was even there; Harry borrowed his razor and help him make toast, and for Percy it felt like confirmation, of a sort.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not called fraternization.

The whispering was getting annoying. If they had something to say to him, why not just say it? He felt like he was being followed around by a leaky balloon and, in his opinion, it was exceedingly unprofessional. Had they all spontaneously regressed to being students again?

"Thank you," he said sternly, "for coming to this meeting, in which we shall address yet again the problem of seriously underwritten reports concerning operations in the field. This has been a black mark on the entire Auror's division for some time.

"Did I say something funny?" he added, because Tonks had suddenly covered her mouth on _black mark._

"Not at all," Harry assured him. "Carry on."

"As I was saying, since you are obviously unable to determine independently what constitutes an adequate report on your duties, I have taken the liberty of assembling some guidelines as to what field reports must, as a rule, include, as well as a model based on Mr. Potter's recent report on the incident with the vampires in Warwickshire."

It was an example because Percy had helped him write it, after being begged, whined at and threatened, and ultimately sat upon in the midst of his own living room. The word _vampires _seemed to set Miss Tonks off again. "Is there a problem?"

"None whatsoever," Harry said blithely.

"I'm sure," he said suspiciously. "In that case, I'd like you all to consult the first appendix of the handbook I have distributed, which includes a list of words I will no longer accept in formal reports, categorized by part of speech..."

He talked for an hour. His throat got dry. Tonks kept whispering to Shacklebolt, and only Harry looked attentive. After Williams had finished drawing a surprisingly detailed cartoon of a vomiting grindylow on the front of his handbook, Percy asked for questions.

"Yeah," Dawlish said with a leer. "Who gave you the hickey?"

Percy blinked, felt his neck, found the tender raw spot under his jaw. Oh dear Merlin. He swallowed.

"I'm sorry," Tonks said, giggling, "but it's just a bit...distracting."

Williams tucked his quill behind his ear. "So fess up."

Percy fought for composure and found it. "This line of questioning is completely irrelevant to the matter at hand."

"Not really," Dawlish said. "Look, right there, on the Index of Unacceptable Nouns'hickey.'"

"C'mon," Williams said. "We just want to know who'd willingly touch you."

"Yeah, Weasley," Harry said, with a smirk. "Who gave you the strawberry?"

Percy gathered his papers together. "Nobody of consequence."

Later, in the supply closet, with Harry's mouth around him and Harry's fingers inside him, he wondered if that hadn't been the wrong thing to say. But when he went round to Harry's flat to apologize, no one was there, and fell asleep on the sofa waiting, and almost missed work.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"Tonks knows I'm shagging someone."

Percy looked up from his desk, wondering when Harry had gone from houseguest to fixture. "Is that so?"

Harry scowled. "She thinks it's _cute."_

"How droll."

He flopped down on the couch and put his feet in Percy's papers. "She keeps wanting to know who the lucky girl is," he told Percy while he stretched.

"You're in my paperwork."

"D'you think she'd go spare if I told her it was a man?"

Percy picked up Harry's feet and moved them onto the floor. "No, actually. Miss Tonks has never struck me as one to...ah...'go spare' over anything."

A wicked grin, white teeth bared. "What if I told her it was you, then?"

"Beg pardon?"

"What if..." leaned forward, "I told Tonks..." crawled down the couch, "that we're shagging?"

Percy imagined this, and swallowed. "Don't."

"Why?"

"Harry..."

"Think of her face..."

"I am."

Dark scowl. "What do you mean?"

Percy stacked his papers and quills. "It's just...Harry...this sort of fraternization...." Was unprofessional, ignoble, contrary to policy and much too pleasant to stop. The thought of explaining it away gave him the willies.

Harry blinked. "Oh." Cold and formal. Percy flinched. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"It's not that..."

"No, I get it." A hand on his shoulder, and Harry was above him, threatening. "Fraternization. Of course."

"I only mean..."

"I always thought," hot breath in his ear, "that it was just called 'fucking up the arse.'"

Percy blinked.

And Harry laughed, and laughed, and pushed Percy down into the cushions. "Let's fraternize! Right now!"

"Harry..."

"Fraternize with me, Weasley! Please! I _neeeed_ your great big..."

"Harry!"

"Please!"

"Harry, watchout!" But it was no use, the papers were flying, the cushions were flying, and Harry, Harry was _bouncing_

"Fraternize! Fraternize! Fraternize!"

and how had _she _gotten in here?

"Penelope!" Percy struggled to sit up, and Harry fell over, and knocked the table aside.

She stared at the papers, the cushions, the laughter, and blinked. "I...you invited me?"

He looked at the clock: _You're running late. _"Oh, god."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Harry said from the midst of the mess. "We were just fraternizing."

Percy buried his head in his hands.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"Thank you for seeing us again, Mr. Weasley."

"Thank you for inviting me back, Mr. Short."

"This won't take long, I'm sure. We just have a few questions...."

Percy sat up straight, hands folded, chin up, and made eye contact with the entire panel. He'd already made a good first impression, but this time was _real. _"I can stay as long as the committee requires."

"Good, good. Now, don't be nervous, just answer us honestly and succinctly, don't hold back now" Short leaned forward and asked earnestly, "If you were a tree, what sort of tree would you be?"

Percy answered smoothly, "A larch."

The committee was impressed.

They questioned him for several hours; Percy felt he did well. He never stuttered, his answers were brief, and they laughed when he intended them to. When he spoke of the need for better enforcement of secrecy laws, Short nodded, and when he advocated the reopening of Azkaban he got a "here, here" from Mildred Blott.

"Just one more question here, Mr. Weasley, just to be certainyou are aware that you'll have to work closely with the head of the Department of Muggle Relations, won't you?"

He'd prepared this one when Harry wasn't looking. "I can understand why the committee would be concerned, but I assure you I am more than capable of maintaining a strictly professional relationship with all my colleagues, regardless of our past history or personal feelings."

"Even with your own father?"

"Especially with him." After all, it was all they'd had for years.

Short smiled and rolled up his parchement. "Well, Mr. Weasley, I believe that about"

"_I _have a question!"

Five heards swiveled towards Calpurnia Whitlow, now swaddled in delicate mauve. Short caught Percy's eye and mouthed _Humor her._

"Eryes, Madame Whitlow?"

The old woman drew herself up to her full four feet and nine inches, her head emerging from the shawls like a bespectacled turtle. She seemed to be staring at Percy, but with the glare off her glasses her eyes seemed large and white. "What," she croaked, "can't you give up?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me!"

He considered the question. Mildred Blott rolled her eyes and excused herself.

"Well, Madame Whitlow, I would never"

"I said _can't,_ not _won't._" She leaned forward precariously, chin clearing the table. "What's the one thing you can't give up?"

Percy swallowed hard. "My principals."

"Wrong!"

He stared as she sank back into her shawls, mumbling. Short smiled sympathetically. "Well," he said briskly, "thank you Calpurnia, and if no one else has a question, I believe we've kept Mr. Weasley far too long."

"Should've thrown him out already!" Calpurnia Whitlow grumbled.

"Erright. Thank you for your time, Mr. Weasley, and do have a pleasant evening..."

When he went home he found Harry cleaning the kitchen and swearing. "Son of a motherfucking son of a bitch, goddamn piece of fucking shit, fucking bastard, fucking _fucker,_ where the _hell _have you been all day?"

Percy retreated from the balloon of anger in the room. "I was in a meeting."

"You didn't tell the secretary."

"I didn't feel the need."

"Motherfucker." Harry threw the dishrag in the sink and banished Percy's dishes back into the cupboard with a spell. "Stupid son of a bitch."

"Will you calm down?"

But Harry just stalked out the door.

For two days they didn't speak to each other, and then on the third Harry came round about dinnertime and fellated him in the foyer, and refused to speak of the matter again.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Busy hands and evil lips and hot breath and a tongue on his_oh._ Oh god. "Ohhhhh..."

"Like that, do you?"

"Harry, don't...don't..."

"You want me to keep at it?"

A slip of the finger and stars in his vision. "Oh, god, Harry!"

Dark snickers. "I like the sound of that..."

He would blush, but he already felt hot all over, burnt and frayed as he clung to the sheets. His muscles burned and ached as Harry moved again, and again, and though Percy's eyes were open all he could see was black, and grey, and red.

"Ahhhhh...._ahhhh..._"

"You like that?"

"I..."

"You want more of that?"

"Ha...Harry..."

"I can't hear you."

"_Harry."_

"Tell me what you want."

He struggled to raise his head and look into eyes that bordered on black. "Wha...?"

"I want to hear you say it, Weasley."

"Harry"

Flames flashing up and down his spine and that voice. "C'mon, Percy...say it for me..."

"N..."

Hands and lips, tongue and teeth, and his body fought him, jerking like he'd lost all control. His mouth was open but there was no air, no time to breathe, because every time he tried there was another wave pulling him under, another flare, and Harry's voice demanding over cries he scarcely recognized as his.

"Say it."

_No._

"Tell me."

_No!_

"Ask."

_"NO!"_

Silence. Still. But for his own ragged breathing and his pulse in his ears he would've suspected he'd died. His eyes were closed and he couldn't sense Harry at all.

"I..." Licked his lips, tried again. "I think you should go."

Had he already gone?

The mattress shivered. "Fine."

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Late. He was late. Blame the alarm clock, blame the Floo, blame the congested hallways full of people looking at him like a lunatic, and what the hell had Harry done to his glasses?

"My apologies, Madame Bones," he gasped, stumbling into her office with cloak and briefcase. "I realize my tardiness is inexcusable"

"No apologies necessary, Mr. Weasley," she said with knit brow. "You're ninety seconds early, as usual."

"Sorry." He extracted the right paperwork, had to squint to see the words. "The latest round of evaluations, ma'am."

"Thank you." She adjusted her monocle and put the evaluations aside without reading them. "Are you certain you're quite alright, Mr. Weasley?"

"Absolutely, ma'am," he panted. "Is there anything else?"

She shook her head. "Nothing important, no. I'm sure you want to get back to your office."

"Thank you, ma'am."

He was nearly out of the door when she said, almost worriedly, "The committee should be reaching a decision about Alastor's successor soon."

Which could mean days, weeks, or months in the tongue of bureaucracy, but it kept up his heart rate anyway. "I see."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley."

"Minister."

People stared at him all morning while he tried to clear his desk of notes and nesting memos. At ten-twenty-six Harry stormed in bare-faced and snatched the glasses off Percy's nose. "You stupid fuck," he declared.

Percy blinked at the black-haired blur. "What?" Something plasticky clattered on his desktop. He peered down at it and felt his stomach curl up when he recognized the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh no."

"You _incredibly_ stupid fuck," Harry snarled, and put on his own glasses, and left.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house always wins.

"I'm ending it."

"Oh, Percy..."

He snapped his eyes up to her and glared. "No, Penny. It has to stop, now, before things get any more out of hand."

"Are they out of hand?"

"What?"

She folded her arms and looked at him coolly. "There's a difference between things being out of hand, and just being out of _your _hands."

"I haven't got the slightest idea what that's meant to mean."

"You wouldn't."

"If you're just going to speak in riddles"

"You want me to be blunt?" She leaned forward and grabbed the lapel of his robes, holding him. "Harry Potter is the best damn thing that ever happened to you, and that's because he is completely outside your control. You have to accommodate him, you have to negotiate with him, but you can't force him. And if that threatens you so much that you would rather walk away, then the problem is with you, not with Harry."

"I am not threatened by Harry," Percy said, and his voice wasn't the least bit unsteady.

"Then what the hell is the problem?"

He pushed her hand away. "My career"

"Fuck your career."

Percy spluttered.

"When has putting your career first ever made you happy?"

"That's completely irrelevant."

"Your happiness is irrelevant?"

"Iyou" He stood and grabbed his cloak. "I give up."

"Sit back down."

"We are obviously suffering from a failure of communication."

"Do you like what you have with Harry?"

Percy stopped and stared at her. "No."

"Do you like Harry?"

"If my personal happiness or lack thereof is such a pressing concern for you"

She stood and stopped him. "Breaking up with Harry won't make you happier, Percy, it'll just make you feel safe."

But she look more sad than angry, and let him go.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"Reports."

"Thank you."

"Moody shot down a memo for you by the water cooler."

"Thank you."

"I'm not fucking you any more."

"Th" Percy's head snapped up. "What?"

Harry looked edgy, annoyed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "You heard me."

Percy swallowed, remembered to breathe. "...may I ask why?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't feel like it."

"That's it?"

"What's so hard to get?" Harry suddenly snarled. "I wanted to fuck you, now I don't. That clear enough for you, or do I need to fill out a form?"

That sound, Percy realized, was him tapping his quill on his desk, leaving a puddle of ink that soaked into his cuff, and it was the sound of him not breathing, if that made any sense. "Well, then," he forced out, and looked at Harry, who did not look back. "I suppose I shall see you at the staff meeting."

"Yeah. Sure."

Percy stared out the door a long time, waiting for the backward glance.

Dawlish came in with a stack of parchment that smelled like old oil and smoke, worrying a dog-end between his teeth. "Reports for you, sir."

"Oh...thank you."

He glanced out the door and leered. "Bit of personal trouble, sir, if I may be so bold?"

Trouble? Of course not. He had wanted this. "Certainly not," he said briskly. "Mr. Dawlish, did I or did I not put 'squish' on the Index of Forbidden Verbs?"

It was all for the best.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

He saw Harry a hundred and forty-nine times in two weeks. He greeted him seventy-three times; Harry returned it five. Harry handed in six reports and completed his dueling section, and Percy never quite touched him when they exchanged scrolls. Harry slept through three meetings and skipped two, and Percy did not think of him at all.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"Mr. Weasley. Have a seat."

"Thank you, Minister."

She shut the door and locked it, and Percy watched as she tapped out the old pipe she cheerfully said would kill her some day. When she'd blown out the first mouth of smoke, she let her monocle drop. "Percy, the committee will be turning it its final report on Thursday."

"Indeed?" He tried to stop his heart pounding, his breath catching. It didn't work.

She nodded. "They were very impressed with you, you know. Mildred Blott especially seems to think that you'll go far in the Ministry."

"I'm flattered."

"You ought to be. I think it's the first time she's complimented anyone in seventeen years."

Percy wasn't sure what to say to that. She couldn't be implyingcould she?

"Of course," Madame Bones continued, "the proceeding of the committee are completely confidential, which means I have no idea who, if anyone, they will recommend."

"Naturally," he said, and cursed his voice for breaking ever so slightly.

"And I also have no power to effect their final decision, whatever it may be."

"I understand." No direct power, she meant; but there were ways, ways perfectly in keeping with the rules, to shape how things came up. Letting prospective candidates help shape the selection criteria, for instance.

She put the monocle back in and peered at him through it. "But I want to make clear to you now, Mr. Weasley, that the committee is not going to choose you."

It was a curious sensation, when words carried the force of a blow. He hadn't been hit in the stomach, but he still couldn't breathe. "Wh...what do you mean, Minister?"

"The committee is not going to choose you," she repeated, "and I want you to understand why. You are still too young, for one thing, and you don't have the field experience."

"And so they're rejecting me?"

"According to the committee's official report, that will be the reason, yes."

Wait. He knew what that meant. The report would be the only thing that lasted. "And...outside the report, ma'am?"

Her face was almost sympathetic, really, which made her words more horrible. "Some questions have come up regarding your character, Mr. Weasley. Ethical question, concerns about your suitability to the position. There's also concern about how your appointment might reflect back upon the Ministry itself."

This couldn't be happening. This felt like a dream, like everything was detached, from the coarse upholstery to the soft hiss of the self-turning hourglass to the tobacco stench in his nose. "I don't understand," he said, and clung to his seat for lack of a better anchor.

"How to put this...." The Minister for Magic frowned and looked at him with what he suddenly knew to be pity. "The Ministry would not want to be accused of doing favors for Harry Potter's lover. For him, we can make exceptions, but for you..."

And then Percy understood everything.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

Knocking. Someone was knocking. And his legs had gone. "Go away," he said, and pressed his face into the cushions.

"Percy? Are you in there?"

"Yes."

"Dammit, Percy, open the door."

"I said go _'WAY!"_

A bad idea, shouting; his head throbbed and he fell off the couch. Pale streaks of light painted the ceiling in sick white and grey. Where _had_ his legs gone?

A rattling at the door, and then a dull thud as it opened. "Percy? Hello?"

"I thought I told you to go away," he said, groping for the edge of the table. "I have to look for my legs."

Swimming, swimming; when his head cleared and he was sure he was upright, Penelope was kneeling in front of him, looking sad. "My god, Percy, what happened to you?"

"I," he announced, "am f...fuh..._fucked."_

"Jesus," somebody said, far away.

Penelope shone wandlight into his eyes, blinding him. "You're pissed, is what you are."

"I considered the situation and elected to take a page from Harry's book." He nearly tipped over

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Um." That was a good question. He ought to know this. "Bottle?"

"How many bottles?"

"Two. Three? They were very large bottles."

Somebody said, "Jesus," again.

"Help me get him up," Penny said, and while Percy wondered what she meant strong arms clamped around his middle and lifted him.

"Hello!" He umphed as he was set back on the couch, and _there _were his legs, right where he'd left them all along. And there was the owner of the arms, the someone who kept saying jesus: Percy recognize black hair and glasses glazed white by reflections. "What's he doing here?" he asked Penny.

"I called him when you didn't come to lunch." Penny was taking his shoes off; why was she taking his shoes? "Being as he was the only other person I know in England of whom you're not scared..."

"If you're just going to make fun of me, I'll leave." He tried, too, tried to push himself up now that he'd sorted his legs out, but Harry pushed him back down, not ungently, but with force.

He blinked at the floating white glasses. "You're staying here," Harry said. "Last thing we need is for you to get hit by a bus or something."

"You care?"

He meant it honestly, really, not harshly, but Harry still made a face and left the room. Penny turned his face back towards her own. "Percy. What the hell brought this on?"

"I told you, I'm f-f-fucked."

"Coud you be a little more specific?"

"I didn't get a promotion."

"All this for a promotion?"

"Would you like to know why?" He struggled to sit up straight, to look her in the eye. "I didn't get a promotion because the _Ministry_ is fucked."

"I think the rest of the world already knew that."

He tilted his head back to look at the pale streaky ceiling, and wondered suddenly what time of day it was. Not that it mattered. "It's pointless," he announced to the light.

Penny frowned. "Pointless?"

"There is no point in playing a game without rules because there is no way to succeed. Playing dice..." He groped for the phrase, the ones the twins had always used. "The house always wins."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"They don't let queer twenty-two-year-olds into the house."

"Oh."

"I'm fucked."

He felt her hand caress his arms. "Do you want to talk about?"

"No, I don't bloody want to talk about _anything,_" he snapped, "I want my job, I want my _life,_ I want...I...to respect..." His stomach surged up, tight and painful, and he felt his throat open, "to trust..."

"Percy?"

He staggered up and out, into the bathroom, just in time. Up it all came, one long slimy trail that left tears in his eyes and a weak wobble in his guts. His throat burned and his hands shook, and it wasn't Penelope who wiped the hair out of his eyes.

"No," he told the cool hand when it tried to remove his glasses. "I can't," he said, though he wasn't sure what he meant.

A heavy arm around his shoulders and a damp towel on his face, wiping away saline and bile. "Shut up," Harry said, and he'd never sounded so warm.

Percy slumped towards the floor, but Harry caught him and helped him prop himself against the wall. He took Percy's glasses despite Percy's own efforts, and the room became soft, fuzzy shadows. Percy drew his knees to his chest and dropped his head onto them, too far gone to care about the sick smell on his breath. He felt Harry's fingertips on his neck, palm on his back. "Erm...Percy?"

He didn't want to look up; he didn't want to see contempt, disgust, or worse, pity. He just wanted to lean into that hand, just little. Percy tilted himself, tipped, and landed hard against Harry's shoulder, but didn't fall.

"Oh! Er..."

Harry settled himself after a moment, and didn't make Percy move, which was good, because Percy wasn't sure he could. He felt Harry's hand moving up and down his arm, Harry's breath in his hair, and possibly, just maybe, Harry's lips pressed against his forehead...?

"...okay. Okay."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long.

Percy woke up with a hangover, but no precise knowledge of how, when or where he'd fallen asleep. In his limited hangover experience, this one was bad; he steeled himself before opening his eyes and trying to move.

He was in his own bed, and it was dark out. Small blessings. He sat up, and found Harry Potter sitting next to him, writing a report. He was chewing on the end of his quill, but stopped when he noticed Percy was awake and spat some feather-fluff onto the duvet. "You're up," he said, and put aside the book he'd been using to write on. "How's the head?"

"I think I'm going to be ill again."

"Gimme a second."

He darted out of the room and when he came back, he tossed a handful of Toothflossing Stringmints onto Percy's chest. "Water," he declared as he set down two glasses, "and a Pepper-Up potion. In that order, according to Penelope."

"Far be it from me to question a Healer's orders."

Harry sat down on his side of the bed cross-legged, and alternately watched him and played with the frayed hems of his jeans, gnawing on his lower lip, while Percy drank and chewed. _He is only eighteen years old,_ Percy thought, and felt very strange.

"What time is it?" he thought to ask, as the last splinter of mint dissolved in his mouth and left nothing behind but the tingle.

"About seven." Harry picked up his quill and started twisting it, pulling apart the delicate vanes. "You've been out of it for most of the day."

Percy frowned. "You've been here?"

"Er...Penelope shouted at me."

"Oh."

Harry colored a bit and pushed his glasses up his nose. "She shouted at me about a lot of things, actually."

"She's good at it."

"Yeah."

Awkward silence and tense company, so Percy went to the bathroom. He did not like what he saw in the mirror, so he didn't look; once he'd relieved himself and brushed his teeth properly, he shuffled back into the bedroom. Harry was staring at his parchment, letting ink drip from his quill and splatter onto his knee. Percy crawled back under the covers.

The only light on the ceiling came from the lamp on Harry's side, a bright pool against dark shadows. He found himself trying to count the shades of gray. "I'm sorry," Harry suddenly blurted.

"For what?"

"For...look, I'm not good at this." Percy rolled over and sat up; Harry was scowling into his knees. "I don't really know that I'm doing, you know, and sometimes it feels like my whole life is just happening around me, and I don't have any control, I'm just riding along. And whenever I think I'm getting it right I realize it's all fucked up again."

Percy swallowed. "I know the feeling."

Harry seemed to deflate a bit. "So...yeah. I screw things up." A pause. "Ron...he used to call me damaged goods."

Which, Percy decided, was the closest thing to a confession he was ever going to get.

"I'm also sorry you didn't get your job," Harry said, almost as an afterthought.

"Not your fault."

"Even if I think you'd make a shit department head."

Percy looked back over to him abruptly, and the little Harry-smirk he found was his undoing. He wanted to say so many thingsabout guilt and sex, and trust and respect, about the different between being wrong time and again and just _being_ wrong, about the Ministry and his family and orderly society. For the first time he could remember, there just weren't any words. _You can do this, _he told himself, and breathed deeply in the silence of the room. _If you are a Gryffindor, you will do this._

"Percy?" Harry's brows knit. "Are you okay?"

Percy leaned across the bed and kissed him, and Harry seemed to understand.

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

"Minister."

"Mr. Weasley."

"My notice, ma'am."

"Your what?"

"Notice," and he had to swallow on it. "I shall be submitting my resignation later today."

"I...see." Madame Bones leaned back in her chair and let the monocle drop from her eye. "May I ask what inspired such drastic action?"

Percy folded his hands behind his back, and forced himself to meet her eyes. "I no longer feel that I have a place in the Ministry of Magic."

"That could change," she said evenly, with all its implications. "People change."

"Not enough. Not in principles."

She regarded him evenly with a slight frown. "Mr. Weasley, you could spend the rest of your life trying to find a job that will not bruise any of your principles."

"I know." He raised his chin and tried to force a jaunty air. "I think I shall look forward to the search."

He met Calpurnia Whitlow in the corridor. She peered at him long and hard, then rapped him on the shin with her cane. "_That's_ more like it!"

"I'm sorry?" Percy blinked.

"Proves you've still got a pulse."

She tottered away. Percy watched after her. "Er...thank you?"

-x-X-x-X-x-

 

And when it had been a year, they went to the grave. They had to scour the section of the cemetery for a full fifteen minutes to find the site, but in near silence. It was, as near as Percy could apply the word, pleasant; sun and grass, and a towering maple that had to look spectacular in autumn. The headstone was polished granite, nearly white, and very plain. It seemed appropriate.

"I'll never forgive him," Harry said suddenly, without fierceness. "Never."

Percy nodded. "I don't think I shall ever understand."

They stayed the better part of the morning and into the afternoon, each hoarding his own thoughts and memories to himself. When the sunlight was most definitely slanting, Percy tapped Harry's elbow, and they walked towards the main gates in the same thin silence. His parents happened into them there.

"Oh..." His mother looked thinner; his father's hair was gray. They all blinked at each other for a few long moments before Molly Weasley rallied herself. "Percy. Harry. It's...this is a surprise."

Harry ducked his head and mumbled something that could've been _Hullo, Mrs. Weasley, _or possibly _gotta go to the WC,_ and scuffed the grass.

Percy raised his head and nodded in spite of the blood rushing in his ears. _If you are Gryffindor,_ he told himself. "Mother," he said with a nod. "Father."

Arthur nodded back, and a hesitant smile crossed his face. "Percy.... It's been too long."


End file.
